


Let your bones show (won’t have to hide anymore)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Flirting, Lust, M/M, Pining Derek Hale, Sexually Mature Tornado of Bangability Stiles, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, Stiles Stilinski is the hot girl, and then they bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Stiles returns from college, and Derek is surprised to find out he’s hot now. And that Derek is extremely attracted to him. It’s like Stiles is rubbing it in his face - and Derek is only a humble werewolf trying not to have the rest of the pack sniff him out.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 51
Kudos: 881
Collections: Sterek Valentine Week





	Let your bones show (won’t have to hide anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> For day #6: Sexy.  
> A love letter to the sexually mature tornado of bangability Stiles trope.  
> May Derek drool over him all the time. AMEN.

**One: Slippery when wet**

Stiles had announced his return from college by calling himself a “sexually mature tornado of bangability”, and Derek had laughed in his face. Because yes, Stiles wasn’t the same immature teen who’d left for a fancy East Coast college, but clearly his personality hadn’t changed all that much if he was still saying stuff like that. 

He was eating his words a few days later, because while Stiles’ personality really hadn’t changed all that much, the sexually mature thing… Was no longer a stretch. 

The pack had decided that mandatory bonding - enforced seeing as most of the kids were back from college (either for the summer or because they’d graduated) - had to involve a water fight. Like they were still toddlers. 

Though, well… Stiles did not look like a toddler. 

He’d gotten surprised by Kira, who was surprisingly good at being stealthy when there was nothing real at stake. And while he was still covered in all of his damn layers, even in the midst of a California scorcher of a summer, his layers were very much plastered to his skin. 

And Derek just… stared. 

Because Stiles hadn’t looked like that before he left. Stiles at eighteen would not have peeled off his plaid slowly, teasingly, like he was performing a striptease for an unseen audience, leaving him in a v-neck tee that showed off his ridiculous neck, surprisingly strong forearms and tighter abs than Derek ever imagined him having. 

Not that he’d imagined. Until now. Now, he couldn’t stop imagining. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Stiles undressing just for him, taking that v-neck off as well and teasing Derek about it the whole time. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Stiles would look, and how he’d smile and tease and tempt Derek beyond reason. 

How the hell was this happening to him?

Stiles was… hot? 

* * *

**Two: Spill all the deets**

It didn’t stop at that one time. No, it seemed as if the floodgates had opened, like one damn glimpse at a grown-up Stiles had completely fried his brain and left him unable to think of anything (or anyone) else. 

A few days later, on the weekend, when the pack parents all had time off work at the same time, Derek hosted a barbecue at his house. He’d mostly gotten it set up to his exacting specifications, and like any self-respecting werewolf, he had an excellent set-up for grilling large amounts of meat. It was the perfect excuse to get the pack back together. 

Stiles showed up early, dragging along a cooler of heart-healthy snacks for his Dad - because he hadn’t been able to monitor that matter too closely over the past few years, and he was clearly ready to overcompensate for that. 

Most of the pack was going to be late, they’d announced, because they were lazy bums who didn’t actually want to do a lot of the grilling themselves. Because that would mean doing actual work that didn’t involve stuffing their faces - they weren’t teenagers anymore, but they definitely still ate like teenage boys. Even the girls - the female shifters, that was. 

Kira had actual table manners and Allison went through intermittent periods of being a vegetarian until she craved another burger and gave in. While Derek was never going to get that, exactly, he’d still made the effort to get Allison some decent vegetarian options. Because he had standards, even if meat wasn’t involved. 

“Motherforking shirtballs,” Stiles huffed at himself. 

None of that was an actual word, but Derek turned around nonetheless, only to see that Stiles had managed to spill some low-fat barbecue sauce on his shirt. Well, some… Quite a lot. 

“I’m not sure that’s your color,” Derek felt smug enough to comment. 

And then the asshole actually lifted his shirt, showing off the very abs that Derek hadn’t been able to get out of his head. Was he actually going to take off his clothes in front of Derek now? Was that what was happening here? Did that make Derek very lucky, or very unlucky?

Fuck, there was actual definition there, and Derek was so very sure that it had not been there the last time Stiles had visited from college. Derek wanted to put his tongue there and just lick him all over. The urge was almost visceral and entirely embarrassing. 

“I think I can pull it off,” Stiles dropped the shirt back into place. “I pull it off so well that the pack won’t be able to handle it. So… Can I borrow a shirt?” 

That was a terrible fucking idea, but it wasn’t like Derek was going to say no to a newly-hot Stiles wearing shirts that smelled of Derek. 

And if Derek specifically threw an old shirt at Stiles, one that he’d worn so many times that the material was soft with use and ripe with his scent even though it had just been washed… Well, none of the other wolves were there to judge him (yet). 

* * *

**Three: Baby got back**

Derek continued to be in Stiles-related hell, and so far he’d been lucky enough to keep his dirty, filthy mind from the rest of the wolves. He knew that was too good to last, though. 

Pack training sessions were a terrible place to get a hard-on. But what was a wolf to do when Stiles showed up and basically folded himself in half like it was no big deal? When the hell did he get so damn flexible? 

And when did he get that ass? Just big enough for Derek’s hands, just enough to grab hold off and squeeze, just enough jiggle to it that Derek about swallowed his tongue when Erica playfully smacked it. And Stiles just let her. He didn’t even get embarrassed, didn’t blush or get flushed, or did anything to indicate that he wasn’t comfortable with it. 

“I’m sorry, are you missing having a nice ass to hold on to?” Stiles teased wiggling his butt at Erica. “Is Boyd not putting out? Are you in withdrawal, Catwoman?” 

The confidence was just making it worse, because while the moves were still a bit demented - of course they were, this was Stiles after all, who was sexiest when he wasn’t even trying - they were absolutely working for Derek. 

They were working so well that Erica could tell. 

“My dry spell isn’t nearly as long as Derek’s,” Erica’s grin didn’t bode well for him. 

“Poor Derek,” Stiles fake-empathized as he switched to another stretch. “Hey, big guy, if you need an ass to grab to get you through the lonely nights, let me know and we’ll set something up. I’ve been told I’m pretty grabbable.” 

He wasn’t even lying about that, because this new version of Stiles had been put on this Earth to torture Derek with his general existence. Clearly someone was out to murder him, and they’d chosen Stiles and his… everything as the murder weapon. And it was fucking working!

Stiles was bent over in a way that made Derek envision just getting up behind him and… thrusting, until Stiles was groaning even louder than he was now. 

Fuck, his libido hadn’t acted up this much since he’d been an awkward teenager. 

“I can attest to that,” Erica patted Stiles’ ass again, smugly staring at Derek. 

So, she definitely knew, and she definitely wasn’t going to let that go. 

* * *

**Four: I scream, you scream**

And then there was the ice-cream incident, courtesy of Erica the Evil Mastermind. 

Stiles really hadn’t been all that far off with the Catwoman nickname, because Erica could artfully balance between being a pain in the ass when she had it out for him, and being supremely helpful when she didn’t. It just sucked for Derek that she usually had it out for him, because it was the only way she got to lord something over him. 

This was her way of winning. And it worked. 

Because she’d managed to get Jackson to cough up some money so that they could all buy ice cream. Derek really didn’t want to know what she’d blackmailed the former kanima with. He just knew that it had worked, because Jackson hadn’t even set a two-scoop limit this time. 

Whittemore Senior’s credit cards still worked, even though the man himself had completely bailed on his son when he’d gotten a job opportunity in London. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” Stiles moaned exaggeratedly. 

That alone was enough to make Derek sit up and pay attention. 

Because Stiles was really vocal in his appreciation, and there was just no way that Derek was able to keep that to a strictly PG-level in his head. When it came to Stiles, PG didn’t even exist anymore. He was just half-hard in his jeans, trying not to imagine hearing those sounds in a completely different context. 

“It really is,” Erica gloated, smugly staring at Derek. 

She was a demon made flesh and Laura incarnate and he appreciated the hell out of her when she wasn’t trying to fucking kill him. Again. 

“Stiles, you’re dripping,” Kira helpfully reminded him. 

Stiles’ ice cream was melting quickly, and several drops had run down his hand, to his wrist, and even to those strong forearms. 

The normal solution would have been to eat up quickly and wash off in the nearby bathroom - but Derek should have known that Stiles had never done anything the normal way a damn day in his life. No, Stiles didn’t think of the implications or the consequences. 

He just stuck out that pink tongue and licked, all the way from his inner elbow up to his wrist, trying to catch all of the stray ice cream in one go. 

_ Fuck _ . 

His own cone shattered in his suddenly tight grip. 

“Fuck.” 

* * *

**Five: Put your hands on me**

Derek was playing the avoidance game, hard. He couldn’t take it anymore. Wherever he was, there was another overlooked aspect of Stiles’ hotness. The slight sliver of skin between his low-rise jeans and a slightly too short t-shirt, the way his biceps bulged as he swung Erica around in a stupid game… Even the way he tilted his head to expose his neck. 

How the hell had Derek never noticed it before? 

It was a punch in the gut - and one a bit lower than that - every single time. Every time he thought he’d found a limit to his attraction to Stiles, there was another surprisingly attractive attribute of his that Derek had managed to completely overlook until it was pointed out to him by the absurd situations they managed to find themselves in. 

Most of them courtesy of Erica’s matchmaker skills, of course. Because she wanted him to be happy, and she wanted him to get laid, and apparently she’d happily throw Stiles at him until Derek grabbed hold of him and just… Threw him onto Derek’s bed, where he’d keep him until he’d touched and kissed every single inch of him, every damn mole on that creamy skin, every tempting inch of him. Until Stiles made that sound again, or all of those pleased sounds that he made over good food and supposedly innocent physical activity. 

Fuck, did Stiles really not know what he was doing to Derek? 

Clearly not, was the answer. He would have gloated more if he had. He would have enjoyed this, getting one over on Derek like this. He’d always liked the feeling of winning - especially when Derek was the loser. It wasn’t meant as vindictive, because Stiles seemed to think that Derek was usually winning at everything - when really, did Stiles even remember how he lived in the burned ruins of his ancestral home, an abandoned train depot, and a half-wrecked loft before the pack finally put its foot down? 

But Stiles was human, and he was smarter than Derek, and he’d gotten his shit together much sooner than Derek, and now he was also more attractive than Derek. 

Did he even know what he was doing with his damn hands when he sat like that? His legs were spread and his hands were inching higher and higher up surprisingly strong thighs. And those damn hands, those nimble fingers Derek had seen flying over a keyboard, flinging mountain ash and being goddamn indecent like he was now. 

Well, enough was enough. Even a werewolf had limits. 

“Do you need a minute?” Derek just couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Huh?” Stiles came out of a trance, like he hadn’t even realized Derek was there. 

Clearly he hadn’t, because he was still basically groping himself, right in front of Derek. The rest of the pack had cleared out in the minutes upon minutes that Stiles just sat there, slowly getting close to getting those ridiculous hands of his on his dick in Derek’s damn living room. 

Derek would have happily volunteered his own hands for the job. 

This pull to Stiles was almost too much, because while the sexual aspect of it was… relatively new (fuck, that made him feel like a shallow asshole and a pervert at the same time), the pull had always been there. From the first time he saw a hyperactive kid with a buzzcut at the Sheriff’s station while Derek was just trying not to shift and howl. 

That had always, always been there. 

“If you need to jerk off,” Derek figured he might as well be blunt, “find yourself a private room somewhere. There’s a perfectly good bathroom with actual privacy.” 

He sounded a little freaked out, a little less commanding and sure than he’d wanted to sound in front of Stiles. But he’d gotten the words out, and pretty much pulled off the frustrated packmate (instead of the drooling werewolf). So Stiles was not going to figure it out, and he was going to realize what he was doing, get flustered, and then leave to get up to things at home that Derek was going to spend the entire night thinking about. 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Stiles did not have the decency to get flustered. 

As a matter of fact, he sat up a little straighter, moved his legs just a fraction further apart, and inched that traitorous hand up a little bit higher still. At this point Stiles was basically cupping his dick, a rapidly growing erection that Derek could easily sniff out. 

Even though he wanted to pretend it didn’t do anything for him, he was holding on to his composure by the very tips of his fingers (his claws, probably, because the shift was not far behind). If Stiles didn’t get the hell out of there very, very soon, Derek was likely to do something that he was undoubtedly going to regret in the harsh light of day. 

“Is that?” Stiles asked a half-finished question, and then shifted gears. “Oh, you’re into this. You are actually into this. You can’t take your eyes off me. Off my dick. Did you want to take a closer look, Derek? You’ve been staring at me ever since I got back. You could have asked.” 

Well, of course Stiles had figured it out - he wasn’t one of the smartest members in the pack for no reason. When it came to intuitive leaps, no one could beat Stiles. His gut was rarely if ever wrong, and he had a knack for logic that was no longer drowned in a lack of self-esteem. High school Stiles never would have leapt to this conclusion - perhaps as a joke on himself, but never in any kind of serious way. And this Stiles? He was very serious about this offer. 

Because it was an offer. 

“Fuck, Stiles,” was Derek’s hardly eloquent response. 

“Sure,” Stiles nodded eagerly. “I’d be into that. Or you can be into me, if that’s your preference. Honestly, I’d be happy with either, but I’d probably prefer to get you under me. Or you could ride me. Fuck, I’d bet you look gorgeous like that.” 

Where the hell did all that filth come from, and why was it working for Derek? This was  _ Stiles _ , the kid he’d met because he was an asshole who couldn’t leave a dead body alone. He’d met Stiles because he was looking for Laura’s body.  _ This _ was who he was attracted to now? 

Yeah, he really was. He really fucking was. 

“Let me get my hands on you,” Stiles’ mouth didn’t stop, not even now. “I’ll make it so good for you, take the time to kiss you nice and slow. You’d like that, I think.” 

Derek groaned, because any attempt at words was just going to come out garbled, and the picture Stiles’ words were creating in his mind was incredibly distracting. Stiles was so confident about it, about his skills, and about Derek’s interest in him. 

It was stupidly attractive. Derek was about ready to take a flying leap and tackle Stiles because they were way too far apart. 

“Yeah, you like that,” Stiles was cocky, and Derek had never felt less like a predator as Stiles stood up and advanced on him. “You like that I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. Don’t worry, Der, we’ll be so good. Just let me show you, yeah?” 

Stiles took a step closer to him with every sentence, and it wasn’t until Derek’s back was against the wall that he realized that Stiles was close to his height now, barely an inch or so apart. He was fully grown, and fully prepared to take Derek apart with his words - and maybe later, once Derek had taken him up on it, he’d take him apart with hands and lips and tongue and every damn tool in his arsenal. Just what had he been doing at college? 

The heat of Stiles’ body against his was starting to make him feel hotter, was starting to make him feel a little sweaty in the best way. Stiles seemed to feel the same way, because his scent was so much more concentrated now, and Derek just wanted to bite at his collarbone and whine and rip off his clothes and let Stiles make good on his promises. 

“Just let me show you how good I can make you feel,” Stiles might have been pleading, but there was no doubt that he was in control here. “I’ll put my hands all over you. And my mouth. I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you for ages. You don’t even know. I’ll keep at it until you’re begging for me. You’d beg so pretty for me. Because you want this, don’t you big guy?” 

Yes, he did. He really did. 

“My bedroom,” Derek was done playing around. “Upstairs. Now.” 

Stiles grinned smugly. 

* * *

**Plus one: What can I say?**

“You’re so gorgeous,” Stiled told him, buried deep inside Derek’s body. 

He was everywhere, and Derek never wanted him to be anywhere else than just like this. Stiles just had to keep moving just like that, because Derek was pretty sure he could come again even though he hadn’t believed it was possible just a few minutes ago. 

Had it really only been a few minutes? It could have been centuries or seconds - Derek had lost all track of time since the door of his bedroom closed behind them and he’d let Stiles push him down onto the bed. Everything that happened after was beyond the normal passage of time, in a way that Derek had yet to find the words to describe. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek panted into Stiles’ throat, before sitting up again and riding Stiles properly, the way he’d basically demanded. “You’ve been torturing me for weeks. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you for so long, wanting to make you smell like mine, to keep you right here. Were you doing it on purpose? You might as well have been.” 

It was ridiculous that he could get out a full sentence at this point, because his brain had pretty much melted and reformed several times over already. Stiles used every bit of knowledge he’d already had about Derek to make this a completely mind-blowing experience. He’d always known how to read Derek so well, and he was taking it to a whole new level now, in a way that Derek had never expected of him. 

Stiles Stilinski was basically a sex god now. 

No one could ever know that he’d had that thought, least of all Stiles. Though Stiles probably knew by now, after the moans and the way Derek had come untouched the second time. Yeah, he probably wasn’t fooling anyone at this point. 

“I wasn’t,” Stiles promised on another languid thrust. “I would have, if I’d known, though. You have no idea, Derek. I’ve wanted this for so long. Never thought I’d get this.” 

He was so sincere about it, and it just spun Derek towards that peak faster and faster until Stiles got exactly the right angle while Derek got his hand on his dick and it was game over. Again. 

After this, he might actually be dead now. 

What a fucking way to go. Fuck. 

Wasn’t he supposed to have supernatural stamina and be able to go forever? Not when it felt like his brain was still dissolved into mush, and his body, while not sore, was riding the waves of his orgasm while Stiles just… kept going and going, thrusting up into his trembling body. 

“I didn’t know before,” Derek was struggling with words now. 

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groaned as Derek clenched around him. “You’re trying to kill me. I love it, keep doing that, never stop. Fuck,  _ Derek _ .” 

One more thrust, and Stiles was shuddering, and then relaxing into the messy sheets. Derek was going to roll around in this sheets for hours after Stiles left, he knew that much. They smelled entirely of them, something that no one but Derek was going to appreciate. 

“Full disclosure,” Stiles hadn’t quite caught his breath, but he was still talking. “I’m kind of disgustingly into you. Like, I’d love to date you. Properly. Tease you on purpose in front of the pack, make out in the back row of the movie theater, dinner with my Dad… All the cliched stuff. I’m in. All in. If you are.” 

Derek was still on top of him, happily looking down at the gorgeous idiot he’d somehow managed to snare himself. He counted hickeys - too many for Stiles to escape the pack without some serious ribbing - and mentally catalogued all of the places he’d already touched and kissed, and all the places he’d yet to map. Stiles was even more gorgeous like this, rumpled and all Derek’s, and Derek just wanted to keep him that way. 

“I could be persuaded,” he tried to play it cool. 

Even though that was stupid, because Stiles had just barely softened inside of him. There was no playing it cool in a situation like that, especially not because he knew he was grinning, looking down at Stiles because he got to be fucking happy for once. 

“Ugh, no,” Stiles rolled his eyes at him. “You can do better than that, big guy.” 

It really was no use playing hard to get - not after all this, and certainly not with Stiles, who knew him better than most anyone else. He knew exactly why Derek was terrified and exhilarated and so damn pleased, and it wasn’t just because he was feeling the exact same things. They might actually work. This might actually work. 

“Yes,” Derek said, simply. “Yes.” 

Because Stiles was the one with all of the words. Not that Derek didn’t talk, he was just more inclined to use body language and his werewolf senses to communicate. Stiles was the one who’d never met a word he didn’t like, or a thought he didn’t voice. And Derek didn’t have to say anything if he didn’t have the words. Except yes. That was all he had to say. 

“Sexually mature tornado of bangability for the win,” Stiles gloated. 

“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m dating an idiot,” Derek huffed, grinning regardless. 

Stiles held up a hand for a high-five and Derek indulged him before gently moving off Stiles until he could collapse into the sheets. 

“Yeah you are,” Stiles muttered to himself, ignoring that Derek could hear. 

This ridiculous man was all his. And Derek was damn well going to show him off - as soon as he’d managed to get the pack to stop cringing and/or gloating. 

Because, well, Derek’s boyfriend was really hot. 


End file.
